Cute
by MxHumanoid
Summary: "Cute." (A Destiel High School AU)


"Sorry," my brother whispers, steering the car into the drive-thru and pulling up to the curb. The car jolts as he shifts its gears to park and it was then I mentally confirmed just how pissed my homeroom teacher was bound to be. The answer: beyond extremely.

"Yeah, whatever," I mumble, grabbing a hold of my backpack's strap and unhooking my seatbelt. I fling the passenger door open and climb out of the vehicle, gritting my teeth all the while.

People have a tendency to label me as a 'chill dude' and I guess I agree with them. But everyone has his or her breaking point and when I reached mine, I was a force to be reckoned with. Ask around, anyone'll prove it.

I make my way to the front office with heavy and forceful steps. But come on, wouldn't you be upset if you were late for school four days in a row? Just a little? And why? Because your older brother _insists _on inviting his boyfriend over for dinner _every_ evening who just _happens_ to stay too late and ends up spending the night. Not only am I one tardy away from a week of after-school detention, I'm also now sleep-deprived (and plagued with nightmares).

Somebody won't be getting the Best Sibling of the Year award.

Shoving the door open, I storm into the bustling and chaotic workplace where business is known for being handled. I normally do but today I don't even bother to acknowledge Charlie, the girl with the weakest immune system I've ever witnessed. She always has some sort sickness whether it's a cold, the flu or a stomachache, whatever. She's constantly ill. I can only imagine how terrible it must be, missing all that school and having to make up all that work. It's possible she's been playing hooky, but I highly doubt it.

I grab a late slip and fill it out in record time, turning to leave before either of the secretaries get to me. If that happened, I could expect to be an additional 10 minutes late to class.

I shove the slab of paper into my sweater pocket as I make my way to my locker. I arrive and reach for the key, usually draped around my neck, to unlock it and retrieve the necessary utensils for first period, English 12.

With an irritated groan, I slam my fist into the metal door. Just my luck, I forgot my key.

Forget Mrs. Hopkins being pissed, she'll be infuriated. And every ounce of that anger will be targeted towards me.

"Of all people whose lives you could've ruined, God," I say under my breath, marching down the hall and bracing myself for an earful of rubbish with a boatload of crap on the side. I twist the doorknob of room 4 to the right and push, shuffling into the room.

"How nice of you to join us, Mr. Novak. Thank you so much for gracing us with your presence," Ms. Hopkins deadpans the moment I step through the doorway.

"Sorry, Miss."

I hand her my note and plunk into the first empty spot I approach.

"Continue reading," she instructs my fellow peers. I sink into my seat, willing her to overlook my book-less nature. But alas, she does not.

"Get your book out, Castiel, and read pages 313 to 322. Please," she commands. I smile, one-tenth-heartedly and sit up straight, folding my hands.

"I don't have my book," I say.

"Why not?"

"It's in my locker."

"And why is it in there and not on here?" She slams her palm onto my desk and I jump, leaning away from her tight-lipped face.

"I forgot my locker key at home," I respond in a diminutive voice, avoiding her penetrating eyes. She's visibly taken aback by my words and sneers,

"Go get a spare one off the shelf!"

I quickly do as ordered and wrench the hardback open to the correct page.

Two pages in, someone taps me on the back and I slowly turn to face them.

"What?" I ask roughly but the brown-haired and green-eyed boy behind me seems unfazed by my harsh tone. He must be new considering I've never seen him walking the floors of this place.

He pulls the folded back sleeve of the flannel he's wearing further up his arm and smirks gently. My stomach flips and I almost smile back. Almost.

"What?" I repeat.

"Do you have a pen I could borrow?" he questions, ruffling his remarkable hair.

"No." I realign my shoulders with the front of the classroom and try my hardest to refocus. He sighs and taps me again.

"Yeah, I was trying to be somewhat subtle but apparently that method won't be working anytime soon," he utters, leaning in close. Reflexively, I do the same. "So here's the deal. You're cute and I wanna take you out. What do you say to today at lunch? I know this great coffee joint, not too far down the street."

"I don't even know your name," I point out.

He doesn't hesitate to grin and extend his hand, which I shake.

"Dean."

"Cas."

"Rhymes with ass," he declares followed by a pause, "and you most definitely have a nice one."

"Not too bad yourself."

"Ahem." My shoulders gain rigidness and I pivot in my chair to face Ms. Hopkins.

"Yes?"

"Go to the office. Both of you. _Now_," she practically growls and I spring out of my seat, just about running out the door and Dean's hot on my tail as I jog to the office.

Someone snatches my wrist and I'm jerked to a standstill. He interlocks his fingers with mine and heads in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?" I screech. "She told us to go to the office!"

"And my mom told me to do good in school."

"Haha," I retort, attempting, and epically failing, to separate our hands. "But seriously, where are you taking me? You're not abducting me are you?"

Dean's boisterous laughter fills the corridor and he slips his arm around my waist, pulling me into his side. Let me be the first to say, it feels amazing.

"Nah."

"This place is so cute," I gush as Dean and I settle into a corner booth. He slides over to my side of the cushioned seat and throws an arm over my shoulders, burying his face into the curve of my neck.

"Not as cute as you," he whispers against the exposed skin. My frame trembles with a pleased shiver as I rest my head against the crown of his head.

On the 16-minute walk to this place, Dean and I just… clicked, you know? Like it was the easiest thing and we've known each other for years. If someone walked by, they probably wouldn't believe we've only known on another for a little over 10 minutes. Hey, I wouldn't believe it myself.

"What can I get you two?" asks a thin redheaded female who appeared a mere few seconds ago.

"I'll have a large cappuccino," decides Dean.

"Me too but in a medium please," I order, smiling warmly at her. She smirks seductively and departs with a wink after scribbling down our drinks.

"Whoa," Dean says, "whoa, whoa, whoa, _whoa_. Stop. Rewind. Play."

"What is it?" I inquire, feeling panic begin to bubble and rise in the pit of my stomach.

"Did she just wink at you?"

"Oh," I sigh, relieved it wasn't anything serious. "Yeah, I guess."

She returns to the table, setting two mugs down.

"I didn't catch your name," she says to me and Dean snarls. "I'm Hannah. A-"

Dean places his hand flush against her face and shoves her, grumbling some very colorful words as she stumbles backwards.

"Jealous much?" I smirk.

"What? No!" he replies, a dark red overtaking his tanned cheeks. I raise an eyebrow. "Just a little." I stare at him. "Okay, very!"

I nod, accepting his confession. Dean takes a sip of his beverage, most likely purposefully giving himself a foam-stache.

"Cute," I giggle, sticking my finger into the foam in my own cup and tapping his nose. He does it to me and flashes that one-sided smirk I've already come to love.

"Cute," he says.

* * *

**A/N: This is shit, who let me take things this far? Please stop me before it's too late. Stop me before I write anything else.**


End file.
